


AFTERCARE - The Puppy-Sitters Club

by darylfiend, xoPeapup



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Ficlet, M/M, Mild Kink, Mild Sexual Content, Puppy Tales, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:06:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darylfiend/pseuds/darylfiend, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoPeapup/pseuds/xoPeapup
Summary: It takes a village...





	AFTERCARE - The Puppy-Sitters Club

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xoPeapup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoPeapup/gifts).



> for the lovely sweetheart who created this wonderful series, thank you for letting me play in your wonderful world for a day!

“Fricking, fucking shitsticks,” Negan muttered as he swiped over the display of his phone, trying a few buttons again and smoothing a strong hand over his stubbled chin.

Daryl looked up from his one-hundred-and-seventy-three cheerios, a droplet of milk on his chin and blue eyes big with concern. 

“Piss,” he whispered, tossing the useless device onto the table. He got up and tapped Daryl’s napkin with his finger on his way to the home phone that sat on the countertop, punching in a number he knew by heart before sitting back down to finish his avocado, maple-glazed salmon and quinoa salad that totally fucking counted as breakfast despite Daryl’s dubious glares. 

Daryl blotted his lips dry and eyed the phone that sat on the table, feeling suddenly guilty, because it was kind of his fault that Olivia had watered it along with the ficus next to the bed-side table. Negan didn’t seem to know that, though, and even mouthed a ‘good boy’ as he listened to the phone ringing on the other end, causing a guilty butterfly to shank him in the heart. 

“Good morning, Rick. Glad to hear it’s going well. Yeah, about that. Something came up, so I’ll need the boy back for today. Yes, right fucking now. Ideally, an hour ago. Yes, well, you’ll have to reschedule your play-date.”

He watched Daryl carefully chew another spoonful of cereal, peering at him through messy hair while the cowboy-boots-guy stammered out an excuse on the other end. “Well, un-tie-him-up. Mm-hmm. No, it needs to be here. Why? Because I can’t trust them alone with you and your fucking freezer full of Oreo sandwiches.” Negan sighed, pressing two fingers into his temple. “Just put the bugger on, will you?”

~~~

At the Grimes residence, Rick sighed and gently pulled the play tape off Jesus’ mouth, wedged the phone against the boy’s shoulder and got to work un-tying him. 

“Good morning, Sir?” He listened carefully, switching the phone to his other ear and rubbing his sore bum once he was freed. “Yikes, okay. Of course, Sir. I’ll be there soon.”

He closed the call and held the phone out to Rick, who was struggling with the camera, until he pointed to one of the buttons. “You press this one again to stop recording. It’s the same one for both.” 

“Ah. So, what’s happening?” Rick pocketed his phone and checked Jesus’ wrists for marks, placing a gentle kiss on one of them. 

Jesus’ eyes crinkled in a genuine smile, pulling his boyfriend closer for a peck on the lips. “Olivia has the day booked off for appointments, and Puppy wrecked his phone again, but don’t ask me how I know that, and don’t tell Negan I said it, either. He has to get a new one after his brunch meeting, rush to another one, and then get it all set up for inventory this afternoon.” 

“Damn. Right.” Rick had forgotten about the inventory, and felt stupid because it was the obvious reason his shift was starting when it normally ended. “Is he picking you up?” He returned the kiss distractedly and began writing a text to Shane to see if he had an excuse to bring him lunch. 

“Well, he isn’t taking his car, because the parking is shit, so he needs you to drop him off.” Jesus fished some clean underwear out of a drawer and slipped into them, pulling a faded Metallica shirt over his head before wrapping his arms around Rick’s neck to make out some more. “Plus, I was hoping you could drive me, so we could finish up in the car?” He bumped his hips playfully against Rick’s, giving him the most hopeful bedroom eyes he could muster.

Rick laughed into the kiss and patted his butt. “You just want a McMuffin.” 

Jesus gasped, scandalized, and jabbed his tummy. “Rude.” He licked Rick’s chin and nipped his lip, groping his eager bulge through his denims. “I want both.”

~~~

Daryl did his best to un-pack the groceries that Negan had brought back after an impressively quick dash to Whole Foods, wet hair still clinging to his neck and dripping down his back from his shower. The fridge-foods were easy because all the spots were labelled, even though he wondered why crisps had their own drawer when they didn’t need to be kept cold at all. The broccoli went on the top shelf, where the light would keep it alive until they were ready to eat it, obviously, and he carefully balanced all the yogurt cups next to the milk cartons on the inside of the door, beneath the butter. Because dairy. 

He put the empty bags away and sat in the chair that Negan pulled out for him, and watched while he prepared a bag for his laptop with folders of print-outs, notebooks and pens, a phone still wedged between his shoulder and ear while he waited, on hold, for his computer to save all the puppy photos from the little card he pulled out of his phone. He looked and smelled very handsome today in a black t-shirt and dark denims, bent over a pad of paper where he wrote out a long to-do list in elegant handwriting.

Finally the crummy music stopped and Negan slid the paper towards Daryl, along with two miniature markers in red and blue. He then wandered away to pace the room while reciting times and addresses so that the taxi service could take him through his downtown meetings. 

He seemed frustrated and it was taking a long time, but Daryl felt excited when he read the words at the top of the list:

An important list for two very important boys,  
with a special reward for whoever does the most!  
Have fun :) 

There were neat boxes drawn beside each task, and Daryl immediately claimed the miniature blue marker for good luck, studying the whole thing and working out a plan of attack, certain he would win because he already had the head start.

Just as Negan wrapped up his call, Daryl heard a car door slam and a friendly car-beep before the doorbell made Tiger jump up and run to the door, barking. He heard the front entry open and Jesus yelling “Daddy, I’m home!” as he ran up the stairs, making Tiger bark even louder and his tail wag even harder. 

Negan snapped his fingers and pointed down for Tiger to stop and sit, which he did immediately, before he opened the door to greet his other boy. 

Instead of a boy, two large bags from Toys ‘R’ Us entered, placed on the floor at his feet, followed by a bursting backpack, before Jesus removed his shoes and came inside, spreading his arms for a hug and getting a blank stare instead. 

“What’s this shit?” He poked one of the bags with his toe, and Daryl wandered up, wiping a damp ear against his shoulder and flashing a nervous smile.

Jesus lowered his arms, crestfallen. “Activities? They’re going out of business, so everything is, like, ninety percent off,” he exclaimed, as though it was a genuinely amazing reason to spend three hundred dollars, scratching his head and looking quite pleased with himself. “Daddy Grimes even bought me a shopping cart! It’s still in the car, though.”

Negan raised an eyebrow. “It stays in the car.” He picked up the bags and carried them into his room, returning without them and gathering his belongings from the table, along with the list. He placed it in Jesus’ hands. 

“These are your activities. You work hard today, and you can show me what you bought when I get home.” He ruffled Daryl’s soggy hair with a bit of a grimace, kissed his temple, and then Jesus’, before patting his hand dry on his shoulder. “Towel him off before you get started. Both of you be good.”

Jesus stared at the long, boring list, dejectedly forcing a smile. “Yes, Sir.”

Negan raised both brows at Daryl, until he mumbled, “yes, Sir,” as well. 

“Good boy.” He fished a handful of raisins out of his pocket, held it out for Paul to take, and patted his fluffy cheek. “Good luck.” 

~~~

Daryl had been busting ass for over an hour. He dusted, swept and vacuumed, and put the second load of laundry into the dryer, carefully drawing his fourth blue check-mark after hanging up all of Negan’s white shirts. It didn’t feel very exciting, because his marks kind of looked lonely without any red ones on the page. He walked around the couch, finding Jesus on the floor, poking a foot with his toe and huffing when he was ignored. 

Jesus was nearly comatose on his belly, with his arms wrapped around a cushion, flipping through the channel guide on the screen. This time Daryl poked his sore butt. 

“Ow. What.”

Daryl crouched next to him, poking his cheek and yanking his finger away when Jesus nipped at it. “C’mon. You’re not even tryin’.”

Jesus got bored of the ammolite jewellery on the shopping channel, and flipped back to Judge Judy, even though he’d seen this episode a million times. “What’s the point? You’re just gonna sulk if I win.”

Daryl squinted, feeling a little angry before he realised by the curve of Jesus’ cheek that he was teasing. “Will not, lazy ass.”

Jesus yawned, stretching and rolling onto his back where he could play with Daryl’s toes. “He’s probably hoping you’ll win anyways.”

“He’s probably gonna kick your ass if I have to do everything.”

Jesus pouted when Daryl yanked his foot away the third time he made it twitch. “What if I want him to?”

Daryl grunted and shoved him, this time with his foot, pushing him across the floor until he flopped over like a lazy bag of meat, making a weird animal noise. “Jesus, c’mon.” He picked up the remote and turned off Mrs. Judy, staring angrily at the ragdoll in front of him until it spoke in muffled.

“It won’t matter. He likes you more. You get puppy squares.” 

Daryl chewed his lip, not sure what to say to that, but he thought it might feel bad if Jesus got to fill in squares and he didn’t, and he felt even worse when he heard a quiet sniffle. He left Jesus alone in his lump-state to pull a sheet of clean paper out of the printer tray and found a pen and got to work at the kitchen counter. Once he was satisfied with his creation, he dragged Jesus out from beneath the coffee table and held it out to him, pleased that it actually got him to him sit up. 

Jesus couldn’t believe it. Daryl had carefully drawn as many squares as he could to fill the paper, making them smaller as he got toward the bottom of the page, and written a cramped “kittin squares” at the top. 

“Puppy,” he whimpered, feeling his throat get tight. 

Daryl huffed, not sure what to say, but Paul’s eyes looked very blue because he had actually been crying so he tried to think of something gentle. “Can you help now?” 

He sounded annoyed and not very friendly, but his ears were bright red, and Jesus got up to give him a hug that was way too long and a kiss that still tasted a little bit like cum and sausage. 

“Okay, but I think I need some coffee first.”

~~~

After convincing Daryl to play a few rounds on his jewels game so he could finish a mug of coffee that actually held six cups, Jesus laced up his converse hi-tops and then realised why Daryl had wanted his help. The c-wing was next on the list, with multiple check-boxes for clearing the furniture out of several rooms, sweeping them and washing the floors, walls and ceilings. 

Not that Daryl seemed remotely as terrified of the derelict factory wing as Jesus felt. He pawed cobwebs off light switches like it was nothing, and Jesus couldn’t help but feel impressed as he effortlessly navigated the fuse box and entered the crawlspace to open up the pipes. He hugged himself in the hallway, tailing the brave puppy like a ghost, the sight of scampering spiders and dusty-crawlies in various stages of decay making Jesus feel jumpy and ticklish all over. 

Daryl pulled a note and key-ring out of his pocket, finding the two numbered doors listed and unlocking them. He pushed the first one open and flicked the lights on. 

Both were immediately startled by scuffling and crashing coming from inside the room, and then Daryl was startled again by the screech that Jesus emitted as he grabbed his shoulders painfully hard. “What was that!”

“Knock it off,” he grumbled, a little bit scared himself and clicking on the mini flashlight on the key-ring. He felt the hairs raise on his arms as he followed the hissing and scrabbling sounds to a pile of chairs with a tarp over it. 

“Daryl, wait, what if it’s—oh no, no, no—” he screamed when Daryl ripped the tarp back, revealing a hissing cluster of ugly goblins. “WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK! DARYL!!!” 

“Jesus, shut up, it’s possums,” Daryl said, mostly unheard above the panicking while he tried to stop the critter from running deeper into the clutter with a broom, scaring it towards Jesus instead, who screamed again and ran down the hallway while it waddled out in the other direction. “Easy, momma. There you go.”

In the hallway Jesus was gibbering, waiting for Rick to answer his facetime call. 

“Paul.” Daryl had to pull the phone out of his hands to get his attention, cancelling the call just as a baffled cowboy-man appeared on the screen. “Quiet, it has babies.”

“What IS IT?!” 

Daryl gave him a puzzled look and gestured behind him. “The hell, y’ain’t ever seen a possum?” Daryl already knew that he had.

Jesus immediately felt the panic leave his body, and peered behind Daryl to see it waddling towards the crack of light at the end of the hallway, his heart still racing. “Oh. Yeah, we saw one last time, too! Cute!” 

He took his phone back from Daryl and followed it, turning his flash on and snapping a dozen blurry photos. “Aww! It has puppies.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes and pulled his bandana up over his mouth. After they let it out, Jesus sent an apology-text to Rick and posted to instagram, twitter and facebook about the ugly goblin babies, then snuck another photo of a badass-looking puppy to send to one of his dads. Daryl checked the room for more stowaways before getting down to business. 

“Wants us to leave it all in receiving,” Daryl growled without meaning to sound rude, lifting a stack of eight rusty old chairs while Jesus followed him with a pitiful stack of three. He marvelled at the puppy’s bulging triceps and cute bum as he was led to a warehouse-like room with roll-up gates and crates everywhere. There was even a conveyor belt. The light switch echoed through the dusty space, casting a flickering yellow light that didn’t make much of a difference, and after placing the chairs down, Daryl snapped his fingers in front of Jesus’ star-struck face. “Chop, chop,” he joked with a little smirk, not even trying to imitate Negan but blowing Jesus’ mind and melting his heart all the same. 

“Ooh, yes puppy, loving the daddy vibes,” he teased, catching up to drag a finger up Daryl’s spine and seriously swooning over the cringe and the little “hja, right,” he got in response. 

 

It was well past lunch time when they finally finished emptying the rooms and power-washing every surface. Daryl left Paul behind so that he could go upstairs and cool down on the smooth floor of the kitchen. He gathered some berries on his phone until that got boring, then he snooped through Mr. Leather International’s instagram until a new notification popped up from Jesus. It was a boomerang of an alarmingly masculine, kind-of-gritty glamour shot of a worn-out, dirty, sweaty Jesus sliding down a wet concrete wall with bedroom eyes. And then back up the wall, in reverse, and back down again, and up again. He thought that it would have actually looked kind-of very attractive, if it weren’t so annoying, and debated poking the little white heart button under the accompanying still shot that followed until Tiger came over to lick his face, causing him to accidentally like it anyways. 

He immediately heard a chuckle and an, “aww, you do love me!” as Jesus padded in barefoot, pocketing his phone with a cheesy wink. He went straight to the fridge to see what daddy had packed them for lunch, and four yogurt cups tumbled out of the door the moment he opened it, one of them bouncing off his bare foot. “Ouu! What the—hokay,” he muttered, picking them up.

Daryl felt his own stomach growl and snatched one off the floor, slapping the list against Jesus’ leg until he took it. Jesus squinted at the rest of the list, scratching the messy bun at the crown of his skull.

“Make lunch,” he groaned, “Make what for lunch, Daddy?” 

Daryl shrugged, sucking yogurt off his fingers as Jesus sat on the floor next to him, continuing. “Eat lunch,” he paused, raising his eyebrows, “that’s a chore?! Wash up,” he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows, “Spicy…”

Daryl swatted his thigh and he cleared his throat, trying to keep a straight face at the next prospect.

“Take a nap. Clean bathroom. Clean kitchen.” He poked at his plump lips with the butt of a tiny red marker and went into silent-reading mode, biting down on the cap to pull it off and spitting it onto the floor. “Wait. If we both cleaned in the c-wing, do we both get to check the boxes?”

Daryl shrugged, offering a gob of Skyr, which was happily sucked off the tip of his finger. “I did most of it.”

Jesus looked genuinely insulted. “Okay, yeah, but I still did a lot, and you already have four! Did you really finish all of these while I was still asleep?”

Daryl nodded, and then thought about it, and then shook his head. He still hadn’t folded the second load of laundry, or cleaned the TV-room, because Jesus had been sulking in it. “Still got a bit left. Socks ‘n jeans, TV-room.”

“Well, I could finish those up. What happens if we end up tied? Do we each get half of a special prize, or do we both get a regular prize?” His eyes shone with curious mischief. Daryl really hadn’t thought of that option, glancing up at him. 

“Maybe then we wrestle for it?”

Jesus didn’t look worried at all, instead he suddenly looked very sneaky. “Ooh, I like that. Let’s do it.”

Daryl shrugged quietly, licking the rest of the yogurt out of the cup, because he didn’t want to argue, and the more he thought about it, the more he thought he really wouldn’t mind if Jesus got to feel special, since he had to stop filming his demo with Rick because of Negan’s broken phone. He traced his pursed lips with a stubby thumb, his cheeks turning pink at the thought of trying to pin Jesus to the floor. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but he thought that might be something Negan would like to watch. 

“Okay?”

“Wait, for real?!” Jesus’ face lit up, and he held out his pinkie, “promise?”

Daryl was confused and worried for a moment, wondering what he’d done to make Jesus use his signal, and copied it instinctively before Jesus hooked their pinkies together for a tiny handshake. 

“Awesome! Okay. I’ll run a bath, and you grill the cheese. We’ll slay this list in time for bush people!” He threw his arms into the air, running away victorious to get the tub running and tackle the pile of slightly-different black socks.

Daryl still stared at his finger, confused, and got up to find the cheese. 

~~~

Negan cursed where he stood on a bustling side-street, his credit card still tucked between his lips while he discovered that his contact list wasn’t loading. He glanced up to see if his taxi was coming, then felt his phone vibrate and jingle jarringly as an unknown number he immediately recognized as Daryl’s sent him a text message. 

One word. 

_hepl_

Before he could respond, struggling to form a single accurate word with the ‘updated’ keyboard layout, more began popping up, and in the rush to swipe them off-screen he closed the reply box and grew increasingly angry when he failed to find it again. The new messages finally rolled to a stop, grateful for the simplicity of the last one to arrive.

_3pm?_

_-Shane_

He jammed the little green telephone icon before anyone else could fuck him up, holding his breath while it rang. 

“Thank fucking shit,” he breathed, when his man of the hour answered. 

~~~

Daryl glanced up from his phone at the sound of tires crunching on gravel, surprised to see Jesus’ buzz-cut daddy rushing out of his still-running car and through the gate, leaving it wide open, looking concerned and breathless. Tiger nearly yanked the leash out of Daryl’s grip as he yipped and danced excitedly toward his second-favourite alpha male. 

“What’s going on?” Shane asked, crouching to stop the dog from pulling. He checked the puppy-boy up and down for injuries before glancing toward the open door, the shrill smoke alarm blasting away upstairs. Then the strange, blackened object on the walkway caught his attention; a smoking toaster with bubbling cheese still oozing out of it onto the pavers. Tiger sniffed at it and licked his chops once he had finished wiggling violently in Shane’s arms.

Daryl’s voice was hoarse with dismay, “M’sorry!” 

It did nothing to assuage Shane’s worry, squinting down at the dirty, sweaty little man. “Where’s Paul?”

Daryl sniffed, pointing towards the open door. “Can’t shut it off.”

Shane took the stairs two at a time, and found his sub kneeling on the kitchen counter, alive and well, bemoaning his misfortune and fanning the smoke alarm on the ceiling with a cushion. 

“Daddy, thank God! Can you reach it? I think I left the tub running,” he climbed down, tossing the pillow into Shane’s muscular arms as he rushed past him into Negan’s bedroom, wailing again from inside.

Once the loud noise stopped, Daryl came back inside, worried about what he might see in the bathroom and feeling his heart sink into his guts when he saw the foamy green water all over the wonderful bathroom floor. Shane glanced up from his mopping, but he didn’t look angry at all, he actually smiled brightly and laughed before he continued sopping up the mess with military precision.

“You really scared the shit out of me. Thought the whole place might have burned to the ground.”

Daryl pulled at his fingers, watching uselessly while Jesus hugged him and kneaded his tense shoulders and told him all was ok. He had to admit that it was kind of amazing how Shane had the floor dry in minutes, and how he was really friendly about it the whole time. He was also a little proud when Paul told Shane about how he had grabbed the fiery toaster of doom by the cord, ran down the stairs, and threw it out the front door. He even left enough water in the tub for their bath, hugged Jesus until he stopped laugh-sobbing, and waited for Daryl to choose a salad from Wendy’s before he went out to buy them a new toaster and pick up some lunch. 

He even napped with them on Jesus’ bed after their bath, since he had clocked out early expecting a real disaster, and as excited as Jesus had been to have his hot dad and hot puppy-brother together in bed with him, he was the first to fall dead asleep after poking a sweaty raisin past pale pink lips and locking it in with a gentle kiss. 

The taste of it made Daryl’s heart ache, wishing a new message would appear on his phone, but he knew by the clock that Negan was in another meeting, and that Shane had told him everything was okay, so he pretended to sleep until the real thing took over.

 

When Daryl woke up, he was confused to find himself alone in Jesus’ room, blinking at a poster of a man on a stage with a dark moustache and sequined crop top who didn’t seem nearly as handsome as Negan. He felt under his pillow for his phone, and saw several new messages, opening Negan’s first, which was an image of him pointing his new phone from a bathroom mirror with a coffee in the other hand, and a “proud of you, puppy” with a heart emoji. He smiled and saved it, opening Paul’s next, which let him know that he and Shane were working in the garage. 

He noticed his red cup waited next to the bed with water inside it, so he drank it all in one breath, wanting to be good. Then he remembered the list and rushed into his jeans, jogged up the stairs to the kitchen, and felt his heart sink when he saw fresh red check marks in the last three boxes. 

He yanked it off the fridge, feeling ill, wanting to find Paul and yell at him for cheating until he saw that his blue marks at the beginning had been left alone, saw that the TV-room had been cleaned, and then carefully counted both the blue and red marks. Seven each, and he wouldn’t have to water the outside trees, which relieved him, because the hose was annoying and always got tangled. 

He snapped a photo of the list and sent it to Negan with a puppy, a cat and a heart, hoping it would be the first picture he saved to his new phone, and went to find Jesus.

 

“He lives!” Jesus cheered as Daryl slid through the garage door and looked around, scratching his tummy. 

Shane had all sorts of tools lined up on the workbench, and he stood there wiping one of them down with a rag. Jesus sat cross-legged in the open bed of the military truck, surrounded by an array of little white receipts and shoeboxes. Daryl was relieved he wouldn’t have to help with the taxes either, afraid that he would make a mistake and cause a SWAT team to come pounding on Negan’s door to arrest him for tax evasion.

He shuffled up to Shane, pointing towards his task. “Was that on the list?”

Shane glanced at him, then back down at the monkey wrench he was de-greasing, shrugging. “Not really, but finding his old tripod was, and when I started digging I realized things were a little disorganized.”

“Oh.” Daryl felt heat crawl up his neck, a little upset that Shane was intruding on all the stuff he’d been using. He had put everything back exactly where he had found it, after all.

“Actually, here, these can go back.” Shane shoved a pile of different-sized sockets along with their case toward him, stepping aside and giving him some space to work while Jesus was still ‘in the zone.’ For a few minutes they worked quietly to the feisty din of a classic rock station, Daryl checking his phone occasionally, and looking surprised when Shane eventually wiped his hands, did the same and cursed.

“Ah, shit. Sorry, boys. Gotta go.” He rushed to respond to the last of eight texts he had missed from Rick, having completely forgotten to meet him for lunch and feeling completely at fault for Rick dropping a half-rack of ribs on his clean pants. 

“Wait! Thank you for helping, sir.” Jesus jumped out of the truck to kiss him goodbye, wincing at the photo Rick had sent of the mess he’d made. “Ouch. Well, you’re my hero. Puppy’s, too.”

Daryl looked dumbfounded when Shane laughed and caught his eye mid-smile, grumbling a not-so-friendly, “yeah, thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it, kid. Be good,” Shane said, and patted his shoulder on the way out.

It didn’t take long for Daryl to put the rest away and begin sweeping the floor, startled once more when Jesus whooped and clapped, gathering up his boxes and hopping out of the truck to admire Daryl’s work. 

“Wow, it’s like a whole new garage!” Daryl gave him the high-five he was waiting for, puffing up a bit. The garage was basically the same, as far as he could tell, but he wanted Daryl to feel accomplished so they could leave, and the little smile on his face was worth it. 

Playing fetch in the empty club with Tiger was easily the best chore, and much better exercise than a lousy walk. Cutting up vegetables was okay because Paul did it too, and told him all about the film he was shooting with Mr. Grimes, and also because Daryl learned that Tiger liked carrots, and was very good at catching them in his mouth. Feeding Tiger was easy enough, but he deducted a few kibbles to make up for the carrots, just in case. 

By the end of the list, they were tied with eleven marks each, and one box left empty, because Shane had found the tripod. 

~~~

By the time inventory wrapped up in record time, thanks to Rick, whose jeans looked suspiciously similar to a pair he owned, Negan was exhausted. He allowed himself another twenty minutes to sit down in the back room of the shop, copying his most important contacts from the company’s call list onto his new phone and summarily restoring most of the sanity he’d lost that morning. 

Only then did he open up the most recent text from his boy, which said “All done! Miss you!” and contained a very cuddly selfie that included Daryl and Tiger, resting together in a nest of pillows and blankets in front of his leather couch. He got up, stretching his sore legs, and wanted very much to get home, deciding to lock up early. 

He was too tired to question the charred piece of sprouted-grain toast he passed on the stairs, kicking off his shoes and entering quietly, seeing the lights dimmed and the TV tuned to a news program that no waking boy of his would choose to watch. 

He went over the list on the counter, a quiet smile spreading up to his eyes, before taking a beer from the fridge. When he closed it, he noticed a second sheet of squares with one crossed out in red, and leaned in close to decipher the writing. A quiet chuckle escaped him, feeling a ridiculous surge of pride when he realised just how busy his boys had been while he was out. 

Negan settled himself on the couch, careful not to step on any toes or puppy tails, and switched to a re-run of the tournament he’d missed. His beer let out a quick hiss when he opened it, and he noticed movement at his feet when he took a sip. Daryl blinked up at him for a long while before rubbing his eyes and sitting up, and he made space between his legs, inviting him closer, his hand finding its way home, entangled in a soft mop of sleep-warm hair.

Daryl leaned into the touch, turning his head to kiss a knee through soft jeans. “Welcome,” he murmured. “Sir,” he added, glancing up shyly. 

Negan smiled, pressing a cold amber bottle to pretty lips and letting his boy drink. “Did you work hard for me today?”

Daryl nodded, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist and rising up on his knees for a kiss. “Yes.”

Negan set his beer down and pulled him closer, sensing more movement and feeling a second boy rest a chin on his knee, smoothing long hair with one hand while he held Daryl close and enjoyed the hungry mouth and silky tongue that sought his. 

“Good boy. Did Jesus help?”

Daryl nodded again, simply hungry for more kissing, but Negan bumped their foreheads together with a chuckle. 

“Actually, Daryl did most of it, Sir,” Jesus said, turning his head to kiss the palm that caressed him. 

“Mm-hmm. Did he let you cross off a square?”

He felt Jesus smile into palm and lick it. “Yes.”

“Clever puppy. And what will he get when he fills up his boxes?”

Daryl’s eyes darted away shyly, not sure if he was allowed to make squares of his own, but Jesus nudged him, so he answered, seeing no disapproval in pretty dark eyes. “Shiny Lucario.”

“Yesss. Badass puppy will be mine,” Jesus whispered with a grin. 

“It’s level twenty,” Daryl added. 

Negan’s brows raised, even though he had no idea what they were talking about. “I see.” He spread his legs further, inviting the other boy to occupy the other half of his lap and snuggle against his shoulder, giving Daryl another kiss on the forehead. “So Paul is a kitten, is he? Why is that?”

Daryl shrugged. “Cause I’m the puppy?”

“This is true,” Negan mused, tracing a round ear with his fingertip. “But why not a chipmunk, or bunny, or a greedy little piglet?” Paul looked guilty mid-sip, offering Negan his beer in apology. 

Daryl drew a little circle on Negan’s chest with a little smirk. “Cause he’s hard to train, and shouldn’t be allowed outside.” His smile grew when Jesus scoffed and punched his arm. 

“Puppy!”

Negan chuckled, patting Paul’s bottom. “He’s also a really cute little bugger, isn’t he.”

Daryl nodded shyly, poking the center of the circle he had drawn, and smiling because Paul got really flustered. 

“Alright, up.” Negan shooed the boys out of his lap and stood before the couch swallowed him whole. “I guess it’s time for another special prize,” he said, heading toward the kitchen as he drained the rest of his beer, and turned back to wink at the two heads that poked up to watch him from the couch. 

“Oh my god,” Jesus said when Negan went to the freezer and pulled out a box of real actual Swedish meatballs from Ikea. 

Daryl glanced to his right, and then back to the kitchen. His eyes lit up when he saw a box of real actual dry pasta that had nothing to do with zucchinis being produced from the cupboard, then glanced back to Jesus, meeting excited eyes as his stomach gurgled. 

“Daddy’s making spaghetti!” Jesus cheered in a strained whisper, grabbing Daryl’s shoulders and shaking him as he bounced.

 

Long after his boys dozed off, full of pasta and fully content after serving him together in his very clean bathroom, Negan trawled through pages and pages of photos, from new to old. 

He knew they would still be there, because his memory card hadn’t been damaged, but he hadn’t scrolled this far in a while. Seeing how far his boys had come, how much they had learned, and how much they loved and shared, filled him with a serene satisfaction, almost as proud of himself as he was of them. 

Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> Can anyone guess what might make an appearance in Jesus's Toys 'R' Us haul?


End file.
